


What Trixie knows

by absolutemoron



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: AU, AU cis women, F/F, Happy Ending, Lesbians, life story, sad beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 23:24:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19119844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absolutemoron/pseuds/absolutemoron
Summary: Trixie is seven and she knows three things: she loves dogs, hates boys and adores the colour pink.warning: mentions of child abuse and suicidal ideation





	What Trixie knows

Trixie is seven and she knows three things: she loves dogs, hates boys and adores the colour pink. 

She’ll spend hours outside playing princess with wheat field kingdoms. Bare feet mud-stained, arms strong from tree climbing, her mama will pat her cheek when she bothers to come in and say “That’s our Trixie.”

She goes to school in worn hand-me-downs, faded colours that remind her of the old posters on the community bulletin board. Some are a bit big but Trixie doesn’t mind- shirts turn into dresses and dresses turn into gowns. On her way to school one little girl turns into something a little bit more magical. She skips home petting Bergie, her neighbour’s dog and doesn’t have a care in the world.

Trixie is nine and she knows three things, she loves dogs, boys are the worst and she adores the colour pink. 

Boys pull her hair in class and her teacher tells her that means they like her. Trixie tells her teacher she hates them. At recess, she hangs out by the swings and ignores everyone else. She tries to go higher and higher, maybe one day she’ll go over the bar. Maybe one day she’ll fly. Trevor pokes her one too many times. She punches him. 

The principal’s office is small so Trixie sits in a chair outside. She swings her feet and tries not to make too much noise. Every kid knows how to eavesdrop.   
Her mama says it’s been a hard year. Her mama says that dad left them. Her mama says she’s supporting four kids. Her mama says

Trixie stops listening. She picks at the pastel pink shirt and wonders if he’ll ever come back. She wonders if it’s her fault. She wonders 

But she knows the answer. 

Trixie is 11 and she knows three things: there’s no room for a pet, pink is okay, and she’s just fine. 

Mama gets married and Trixie wears a dress, the first one that’s just hers. It has ruffles and flowers and when Trixie looks in the mirror she thinks she may actually be pretty.   
At the wedding, she drops pink flowers the same shade as her dress and eats three slices of cake. 

He seems okay at first. He gives her dolls, ones soaked in grease from Happy Meals but still, dolls. She brushes their hair and imagines they’re the princesses she wished to be. He likes playing baseball with her older brother and teaches her younger one how to catch. The house fills a bit fuller even after Olivia goes away to University.   
She believes in magic again, just a little bit. 

Then Trixie doesn’t put away her toys. Then her mom doesn’t cook well enough. Then Olivia calls too often. Then 

Trixie looks at the dress, the first one she’s had all to herself and hates it a little. 

Trixie is thirteen and knows nothing.

She spends half her days holed up in her room, the one she used to share with Olivia and the other half alone at school. 

She babysits for extra money and wears clothes that scream, looks away. He yells so she puts music on. She’ll still hear doors slamming and a noise she pretends she doesn’t know what it means. 

She tries out makeup. He calls her a whore.   
She tries out for drama. He says what a waste of time.   
She tries out suicide, but she can never see it through. 

Trixie is nineteen and she knows she has to get out. 

It’s all about the money. She graduated with good grades, but not stellar. She works hard but not hard enough. She saves until she has enough to cover at least the first year, then she packs her bags and moves to Chicago. 

The old question goes through her mind. What do I want to be when I grow up.   
When Trixie was seven she said a princess.   
When Trixie was nine she said a chef.   
When Trixie was eleven she said an interior designer.   
When Trixie was thirteen she said dead. 

She decides to study social work. 

She keeps her head down and studies hard. She wears her pyjamas to work and sometimes she pretends she doesn’t exist. Her roommate complains that “she’s just so quiet, and weird. She like never talks,” but Trixie doesn’t talk to her so she wouldn’t know. 

First year comes to a close and Trixie realizes that she only has acquaintances, she doesn’t have friends.   
She answers an ad on the student housing board and moves out of residence in May. 

Trixie is twenty-one and she knows one thing: she’s incredibly drunk. 

Her roommate, mostly friend by now took her out for drinks. Trixie loves Kim, she loves her makeup sense, she loves her fashion sense, she loves her sense of humour. Being with Kim is easy and sweet; it reminds her of eating a spoonful of honey. 

Kim puts on her makeup. Trixie feels more like herself.   
Kim chooses her outfit. Trixie feels more like herself.   
Kim lets her choose the bar, and Trixie comes out. 

They dance in a club pulsing with music and Trixie feels like she may actually be alive. She knows she’ll regret it in the morning. She knows that her hangover will be the absolute worst but right now, she’s wearing a short pink shirt and she smells too much like vodka and she’s having fun.   
She makes it to the dance floor, and she does her signature dance moves. She jumps up and down. She shimmies a little bit and she watches Kim almost fall over. A girl catches her eye and she thinks about kissing her. For the first time that doesn’t feel like a bad thing. 

Trixie is twenty-seven and she knows three things: she adores the kids she works with, she hates her supervisor and pink is the best colour. 

They’re a mixed bunch, some of the kids are angry, some of the kids are shy, but all of them need love. She gets hired by the school board and spends her days talking to queer kids about being queer. She wears way too much makeup, and way too much pink but she doesn’t care.   
At one of the school’s GSA she does a presentation then asks them what they want to see in schools. A lot of the answers are the same ones she always hears, more resources, gender-neutral bathrooms. Someone at the back catches her eye. She has blonde hair and an obnoxious laugh. She wears a skirt covered in eyeballs and tiny hands for a necklace. Trixie falls in love with her in that minute.   
She introduces herself, the woman teaches art. Her name is Katya. 

Trixie is late for their first date, her car broke down and she does not have the money to fix it but Katya just laughs and shrugs. They go to a farmer’s market and Katya looks at vintage clothes. Trixie dares her to buy some “ethically sourced rat bone jewelry” and Katya complies, buying a necklace with a skull on it. 

They go to a coffee shop for their second date and get kicked out. Trixie swears it’s because Katya laughs too loud. Katya swears it’s because of Trixie. 

One night Trixie brings Katya back to her house. They sit on the couch and Trixie feels like her heart is going to burst. She tells Katya things she never thought she’d say out loud.  
My step-dad used to beat us.  
I used to hate being gay. I would pray for God to make me straight. Sometimes I still wish it worked.   
I haven’t talked to my siblings in years. Olivia never came home after she left for university.   
I haven’t felt this alive in ages. 

Katya holds her hand and says, okay. It will be okay. 

Trixie tells her she isn’t sure if she can love someone else. She barely knows how to like herself. 

Katya holds her hand and says we can cross that bridge when we get to it. 

They fall asleep curled up on the couch, and Trixie feels safe. 

(Two weeks later Katya tells her she’s a recovering drug addict. That she feels like a failure. That she never feels like she’s good enough. Trixie holds her hand and says, okay. It will be okay) 

Trixie is thirty-five and she knows three things: she’s more of a cat person, she adores the colour pink, and Katya may be the love of her life. 

Katya kisses her awake every morning before going off to yoga, and Trixie feels loved. She wakes up, feeds the cat, Edgar, and makes some type of breakfast. 

Sometimes it still feels hard. Sometimes she doesn’t want to get out of bed. Sometimes it feels like everything is too heavy and even breathing is hard. On those days Katya just holds her hand and lets her take some of her strength. 

Sometimes they fight. Trixie leaves the cabinets open and forgets to change the toilet paper roll. She works too much and is always late. Katya leaves the mustard out of the fridge and can’t cook to save her life. She worries way too much and her brain never seems to slow down. Somehow they make it work. 

Last week Trixie found a ring buried in Katya’s raccoon hat. She laughed and checked on the one buried in her sock drawer. 

Trixie is thirty-five and she finally feels happy.


End file.
